


Infinitely Potato

by christinefromsherwood



Series: 007 Fest 2020 [28]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Bad Poetry, Designated Driver Bond, Domestic Fluff, Drunken Shenanigans, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, James and Q drive home from Eve's bday, M/M, Sillinesss, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25544812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinefromsherwood/pseuds/christinefromsherwood
Summary: Q doesn't drink very often. But whenever he gets a little past tipsy, it's always an experience.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: 007 Fest 2020 [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1809718
Comments: 38
Kudos: 130
Collections: 007 Fest Fancreations





	Infinitely Potato

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soufflegirl91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soufflegirl91/gifts).



> written for Souffle's prompt for Collab Prompt Table, and an anon prompt
> 
> Souffle wished for “Q gets drunk and explains to Bond exactly how he resembles a potato”  
> Anon Prompt/Fluff #29 - If Bond ever was self-conscious about his ears in his life, Q’s fascination with them and tendency to compose poetry in their honor while drunk has long since cured him of that.
> 
> Thank you, Souffle, for that useful tidbit about McCoy's crisps :)

James poured Q into the car. That’s how utterly coathangered his boffin was: Q was like a putty in his arms. 

“Darling, the seatbelt?”

Q curled up in the passenger seat, taking off his dress shoes the moment his lovely arse touched the leather covering. The unmistakable odour of socked feet released from the confines of a well-worn shoe filled the air. James wrinkled his nose, as Q hummed: “I really like it when you call me darling.”

James couldn’t help a smile, as he opened the windows a crack. “That’s good. I’m glad. The seatbelt? Love?”

Q gave a firm, decisive nod before his forehead creased suddenly, and James held his breath, waiting for his boffin’s next statement. 

Q didn’t drink very often. Sometimes after a long day, they’d open a bottle of wine and finish it in one evening and Q would then tipsily babble all sorts of curious and banal facts at him, flitting from one topic to the next, sometimes quoting his favourite cult movies. Tipsy was also the stage when he had the tendency to throw his head back and snort when he laughed.

(Only once had he seen Q blind drunk. And neither of them liked to think about the occasion.)

But there was a sweet spot a little past tipsy, way off from near-comatose where Q’s brain would pick a topic, latch onto it and not let go until he either fell asleep or sobered up. This was always a delight.

Once, after a close call on a mission, James woke up in the middle of the night in Medical to a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels on his bedside table and a Q who treated him to a truly terrible kiss, and then proceeded to stroke, caress and fondle James’ ears because he got it into his head that it was the ears that saved his life. 

James knew this for a fact. Q then began to, at length, compose poetry to his ears. 

If he had ever in his life been self-conscious about their shape, size or the way they sat on his head, Q’s serenades would have cured him of that.

Unfortunately, James didn’t remember all of what was said, except for one very _moving_ haiku and several hilarious lines. 

_Flight of a bullet_  
_Shall never defeat these ears--_ _  
_ They flap in the wind

He had to suppress a laugh at the recollection. There was also something about the sun shining “streamily” through his ears being Q’s sign of a good day, and his earlobes of “rare-steak squishiness”, which was apparently perfect for “biting, but like sexy biting” (James suspected that Q had got hungry by then). At one point Q asked the left one if he should compare it to a summer’s day, and then he told James off for not putting sunscreen on his ears in summer. 

So now, with Q so utterly gazeboed after Eve’s birthday bash, James knew whatever was about to fall out of his mouth would set the tone for the car drive home and their entire bedtime routine. 

“I don’t have a pet name for you!” Q blurted out in a horrified voice. “And you probably think I don’t love you because I don’t have a pet name for you but I really do!”

Well, that was new. “Darling, I know. I know you do.” 

One hand on the seatbelt, Q turned in his seat and groped James’ biceps. “I love you more than Battenberg cake!”

James bit the inside of his cheek and gestured towards the belt. “Uh-uh.” 

Q nodded rapidly. “Like so much more! An infinite amount of Battenbergs!” He paused briefly, fumbling with the fastening, before shouting: “That’s so much cake!”

James pushed a bottle of water into his hands, and took over to click the belt in place. “Darling, are you saying you want cake? Because I don’t think that’s a goo- Oh, come here.”

Q scrunched his face unhappily. “You’re laughing at me!”

“I’m not laughing at you.” In fact, James was trying _very hard_ not to laugh at him. 

“And I don’t want cake!”

He nodded. “Well, that’s good because we don’t have any, and I don’t think anything close by is really open at this time-”

“You’d go buy cake for me?” Q interrupted with a shout, before moaning: ”You love me so much and I don’t even have a pet name for you!”

And there it was again. James grinned. ”I don’t need a pet name, love. Now drink up.”

“You DO! You’re my James. Mine, my own, my _precious_ …” Q ended his creepy rasp with a giggle and a hiccup. 

James could feel his hands start to shake with suppressed laughter. “Please, never do that voice again?”

“Alright,” Q hummed, took a sip of his water, before hugging the bottle close as he closed his eyes and settled in, seemingly content to be driven home. 

Starting the car, James pulled away from the kerb in front of Eve's house.

It was, honestly, a lot of fun getting to see Q like this. Pliant and loose and completely unrestrained when he spent so much of his day-to-day life having to mould himself into an efficient, ultra-rational machine for work. So James liked to see him giggly, silly and affectionate, and their first aid kit was packed with plenty of aspirin for the morning after. 

He slammed on the brakes as a group of lads staggered out onto the pavement and teetered on the kerb, hollering insults at one another. 

“Whomst the fuck!” Q shouted, rudely awoken from his light doze. Snorting, James shifted gears and carefully drove around. 

“It’s nothing, love. Have some more water.”

“Aw,” Q cooed as he began to tackle the bottle cap. “You’re so sweet.” Taking a sip, he patted James’ hand on the gear shift before adding: “My sweet potato.”

Biting his cheek again, James caught Q’s fingers and gave them a squeeze. “I’m a what?”

“You’re my precious, sweet potato. I’m going to call you potato,” Q hiccuped before extracting his hand and waving it in the air as though to illustrate a point. James directed the car into a careful turn and settled in for what promised to be another memorable speech.

[ _(Art by Aliensdoodles )_ ](https://twitter.com/Dramaticatart/status/1342610943562412035)

“‘ _You’re my potato, my own potato, you make me happy when skies are grey,_ ’” Q sang, wonderfully off-key. He then went to clumsily pat James on the back, as he choked on his spit in a bark of surprised laughter.

“What? You are!” He chortled, grabbing at James’ arm and pinching the leather on his sleeve. “See, jacket potato! You wear jackets all the time!“ He paused, thoughtfully. “I like a jacket potato and you look very delicious in all jackets.”

Well, James really couldn’t fault his logic _there_. 

“You also have eyes!” A good point. “And potatoes have eyes! That’s how they reproduce! And your eyes are very pretty and we can’t reproduce but they go all hot and dark when you come and that’s how I knew I wanted to have _so much_ sex with you after the first time. Like, infinite amounts of sex.”

James howled. He was really glad they were on a clear stretch of road. Q grinned, encouraged by the response.

“And when you came back from Australia, you were a smashed potato because you hadn’t worn sunscreen and bruised your ribs!”

James drove on and Q continued to expound on blending potatoes and spies. He, however, refused to even consider vinegar crisps. James was apparently nothing like a salty, vinegary crisp at all, at all.

“What about McCoy’s? They’re manly. Strong,” James argued as he turned into their street. 

Q shook his head vehemently. “They’re nasty and sexist and you don’t want to be a nasty, sexist potato, right?”

“No, I don’t want to be a nasty, sexist potato,” he agreed, which Q followed up by chirping: “Woke potato,” whatever that meant.

“Woke potato, woke potato, woke- Have you ever tried frying a potato in a wok pan?” Q asked suddenly. “Because I was thinking-”

“We’re home,” James interrupted. Q beamed.

“Clever potato!”

Now, James wasn’t sure how “clever potato” fit with Q’s convoluted, yet mostly consistent metaphor but, as he rose to help Q out of the car, plans of tomorrow’s lunch were already whirling in his head.

Q probably wouldn’t feel up to eating much, but there was nothing stopping _James_ from putting on the dinner jacket Q liked to ogle him in, and baking a potato for himself with some of that cream cheese and smoked salmon they had in the fridge. 

Q always made the best faces when he remembered his drunk ramblings.

Though, James mused sadly, they’d have to defer making a dent into the infinite amounts of sex until after Q wasn’t horribly hungover.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Alien, for the lovely, lovely art. Everyone! Go check out Alien's art! [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Dramaticatart) | [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliensundermybed/pseuds/aliensundermybed)  
> Thank you, Nana, SO MUCH for commissioning this awesome art. Everyone!!! Go check out Nana's [fanfics and art](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nana_41175/pseuds/Nana_41175)! She's got plenty of delicious, steamy 00Q.


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